If They Die Young
by Military Mechanic
Summary: No one is exempt from life. Not the old, not the young, not the wounded. It is the same for war. When it strikes, everyone in it's path is caught up in its horror. This? This is the story of two proud women of the war. One in the military, one just trying to survive. And it shows how, when life calls to them, they do not run from it.


A/N: so, we've got another one-shot right here. it's number two for my little 100 Country Moments challenge, which i've written about in my profile. feel free to check it out, people! and, as always, reviews make my day. i would love to know how i did here, as it's my first time writing for Rose.

this one is written for the song If I Die Young by The Band Perry. enjoy!

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_Outside our windows...The storm rages._

"Sir." Riza says, pushing open the door to the Colonel's office. It has been years since she last knocked before entering. Not since the two Elric boys dissapeared, off into the country-side in search of a life of peace and safety.

As usual, there is no answer. Just one piercing eye looking at her, the other hidden by a slip of black cloth. He waits - because, if she has found him, then it is important. Far more important than anything that he could say to her right then.

"Sir." she repeats, and then she clears her throat. The words seem to be stuck there, trying not to get out, not to be spoken. And, oh, she wishes that she wasn't the one who had to say them.

But she is.

So she doesn't hesitate longer then needed. No longer then it takes to steel herself, with that ever-present mask of fierceness, and turn her words sharp.

"The Drachman soldiers have attacked Liore."

_Dirt and blood and death. _

"Rose! Rose!" the woman screeches the name, throat sore and words hoarse. She holds a bundle of cloth tight against her chest, dirt-coated fingers gripping the fabric as though her life depends on it.

Around her, guns are fired. Buildings are set a blaze. People, of all age and health, are knocked down in the street and killed. The once golden-brown sand of their beautiful city is stained with rust.

"Rose!" the woman calls again, and then she stops and swings her head around. Frantic eyes scan the mass of people around her, both citizens and Drachman soldiers, and for a moment she thinks that she has come to the wrong part of the town.

Then she spots the woman in question on the other side of the street, a small babe clinging to her tattered skirt.

Once more, the woman calls her leader's name. This time, there is relief in her voice. Without thinking, she dashes across the road, pulling the bundle ever closer to her, fingers curling ever tighter into the multi-colored swathes of fabric.

"Venna?" Rose questions, light brown eyes flashing toward the woman. One hand is clutching the child's shoulder, the other hand flat against the stone-wall she stands beside. Scarlet stains both, though that color is on everything and everyone right then.

Venna gives a slight smile as she stops beside the younger woman. "Rose, I was worried that I wouldn't find you in time. Here. This is from Peyta. She says that you need it the most."

Slowly, she uses one hand to pull back a corner of the fabric. Nestled inside of the bright cloth are several rolls of bandages. They are stained with shades of orange and red and brown, but they are still usable. Still life-saving utensils that are so very, very hard to come by in this dreaded war.

"Oh, Venna! This is wonderful!" Rose says, and she lets go of the wall in favor of taking the carefully wrapped packages. With just as much care and determination as the aging woman before her, she holds it to her chest. "I'll make sure to take them to Braig the first chance I get."

"I know, that's why I came to you." Venna says, and for the first time in a while she smiles. This girl before her, though young and inexpierenced in the ways of fighting, is nothing less than in charge of the rebellion against Drachma.

Though it hasn't been said outloud, it is still official.

"You should come with me, Venna." Rose says, and her eyes dart about around her. Take in the destruction and the hate and the death. Then flicker back to her long-time friend. "Braig needs someone to help with the wounds."

Venna nods, opens her mouth to speak - then a gun is fired and all that comes out is a splash of blood, dripping down tanned skin and staining the face of the young woman before her. The little girl screams, flinging her arms around one of Rose's legs, and without thinking the bundle of medicine is tucked under one arm, the child pulled into the other, and Rose finds herself running.

_They surround us._

The letter, though unwanted, is not unexpected. The team beneath Brigadier General Roy Mustang is one of the most expierienced in the military when it comes to war. One of the most sought out, the most likely to survive an onslaught of enemy fire.

So, after the battle between Drachma and Liore goes on for almost a week, they recieve a letter.

**Send three of your men to Liore.**

That's what it says. Not one, to lead. Not all, to defeat. But three, just enough to even the battle out. Roy knows why, of course. They can't send all of their best fighters to the same battle, not when they don't know if another attack will happen elsewhere.

Knowing doesn't make him any more happy about it. Niether do the words of his 1st Lieutenant, who currantly stands beside him at one of the many train stations running through Central. She has a small, black briefcase in one hand and nothing else - because nothing else is needed on a mission like this, nothing but what she can carry and what she is willing to lose.

"We'll be fine, sir." Riza insists, her sharp blue eyes flicking over to the man beside her. She can see the worry in his darker eyes, even though he is trying to hide it. It's her job to tell when he's worried, after all.

Roy gives a slight nod, pale lips twitching down just slightly. "I know that, Lieutenant."

A lapse of silence. Someone on the train calls for all passengers to board, and with a wave and a grunt, Breda and Havok amble up the small flight of stairs and into one of the cars.

Riza takes a step foreward then, feet barely leaving the ground, spins around and gives the dark-haired man a sharp salute.

"Aim well, Riza." Roy tells her, and he returns the motion, eyes never leaving her trim form as she boards the train.

_Like nothing else in the world, it shows us the Truth._

It is late when Rose finally returns to the house she is currently staying in. Her steps, though slightly off from each other, are fast. Her stride long and her face determined. A new streak of blood stains the back of her once green dress and, to go with it, a new slash of pain to ass to her growing collection.

When she pushes open the heavy oak door, all activity inside of the building ceases. For a split-second, she finds herself the target of several shaking guns and she can feel nothing but fear in the air. Then, as each person realizes who she is, the weapons are lowered. The movement once more begins.

"Hello, everyone." she says, a slight smile playing on her face. She doesn't waste any time slipping inside of the room, making sure to tug the door closed behind her. "How are we all today?"

Someone mutters a curse. Someone else, a greeting in return. Most of them stay silent.

Rose isn't expecting anything else. Not here, in the building full of wounded and starving and lost. Where the numbers of inhabitants constantly increase, where the room available is ever-shrinking. As long as the Drachman soldiers lurk in their once glorious city, this will be a house os sorrow and pain.

She takes her time walking down the rows of make-shift beds. Pauses to speak with this person and that one, to smile and joke with an injured child, to trade horror-stories with a blinded man. Some lay on pieces of broken and stained furniture, others on thin piles of cloth set out on the floor.

There is no more room here, she thinks to herself. On the outside, she smiles. Makes her way to the back, where she finally sets down the small bag that is clutched under one arm.

A balding man with a bandage wrapped around one arm is at her side in moment. First, he checks the contents of the bag. Then, he looks her over for serious wounds.

"You need to be more careful out there, Rose." Braig tells her, mouth pulled into a frown. "Keep this up and it'll be the end of you."

"I know, Braig." she says, and her voice is soft, eyes turned towards the floor. "But if I stop, what chance do we have of surviving? Someone has to help our soldiers."

"It doesn't have to be you, though." Braig tells her, then pats her on the shoulder. A sign that, though wounded, nothing is serious enough to warrent medicine. Beneath that, a sign of worry and affection.

Rose remains silent - because, really, it _does_ have to be her. There is no one else willing to do it.

_That there is no love. _

"Get down!" Havok shouts, and he doesn't understand why only a few of the citizens before him drop to their knees. Most keep running. One even freezes right where they are, brown eyes locked onto the troop of approaching Drachman soldiers.

There are at least twenty of them, all outfitted in black and carrying guns, swords strapped to their backs. Living Reapers, or so the older members of Liore have dubbed them, that have come to purge the south side of the city of all remaining inhabitants.

"I said get down!" he calls again, and two more head his cry. They hit the ground, chest flat in the dirt, and throw their hands over their heads in an attempt to protect themselves.

The rest turn on their heels and try to flee. The girl with the brown eyes stands in the middle of the chaos, as though she's been frozen in place.

Havok can't put it off any longer. He raises his gun, the butt of it resting on one shoulder, and takes aim. Fires - once, twice, three times. Over and over again, striking down anyone and everyone that his bullets can reach.

Around him, people are screaming. The sand that layers everything is kicked up in the madness, forming a cloud of dust that forces the sniper to lower his weapon. Forces him to narrows his eyes and really focus on the city beneath him in order to figure out what's going on.

There are still a good ten Drachman soldiers storming the street. Still a handful of civilians runnning around, as though they aren't sure what to do or where is safe for them to flee too.

The girl he noticed earlier, with the sad brown eyes, has moved as well. Only she hasn't run from the battle like she should have. Instead, she has run right into the mass of soldiers. In one hand, she wields a long, metal pipe. If someone gets close to her she swings it, strikes them with all the force that her worn body can muster - but it's clear that fighting isn't her intent.

One look, and Havok can tell that she is headed into the crowd of Drachman soldiers because of the man laying wounded in their midst. Still alive, yes, but terribly hurt. Crimson soaks the shirt he wears and forms a stain in the sand around him, agony clear on his face.

The brown-eyed woman drops to her knees beside him, wraps her arms around him, and then forces herself to her feet. She stands there just long enough to pull the man over one of her shoulders, then she is moving, trying to get away from the fighting, away from the death.

A black-clad soldier spots her. Raises his gun and aims for her head - and Havok pulls the trigger, bringing him to the ground instead of her.

A glance in his direction and then she is off, stumbling down the dust and blood covered street.

_That there is no safety._

It was supposed to be a safe-place, this house. One on the inner-reaches of town, with a single floor and only four rooms. Small but sturdy, and something that the Drachman soldiers wouldn't be interested in taking right away. That is why the members of the Amestrian military chose it as their base. Because it was supposed to be safe and, at night, safety was what they needed here.

Yet, three weeks into the attempted take-over, it is stormed. The hour is late, far past midnight, and the raid unexpected. Nearely thirty Drachman soldiers force their way into the building, and more are set up outside to kill any Amestrian men who manage to escape from the slaughter.

There is no choice but for the surviving men and women of Amestriss to barricade themselves in one room. An upturned table is pushed in front of the open doorway, providing some cover and giving them something to shoot over.

Riza is positioned at the front of the group, along with Havok and a brunnette by the name of Reese. Their guns are drawn, their faces tight with anxiety.

Despite their training, they see no way out of this. They are outpowered and outnumbered and they are cornered. Trapped like mice in a maze filled with starving cats.

"What's the plan, Boss?" Havok questions, pulling the trigger of his gun. The bullet pierces through someones shoulder.

Riza's silent for a moment. Fires her own gun. Then glances at her long-time partner out of the corner of her eyes. "We fight until we can't, Havok."

A slight grin settles on his face, though there is only sorrow in his eyes. "Been a pleasure serving with you, Riza."

"The same to you, Jean." Riza says - and then they both turn their attention back onto the soldiers trying to claim their lives, back onto the men behind them who are trying to find a way out, a way to safety that isn't there and never was.

Just as Riza moves to fire at one of the men furthest away from her stronghold, there is a loud crash and he crumples to the floor. Blood oozes from the back of his head and, behind him, a man stands with a wooden board in his hand.

"Now!" he shouts, and then he rushes in, make-shift weapon swinging. Behind him come several other member of Liore, all bearing planks of wood or metal pipes, some clutching kitchen knives and others holding nothing but simple rakes and shovels. They swarm into the building with curses on their tongues and hate in their eyes - and with them is the girl Havok saw almost three days ago, the one with the sad brown eyes.

Only now, those eyes show only the will of a fighter.

She still holds her pipe, and idly he notices that it is dented and stained with red. When she swings, it is with the force of a figher. When she crouches beside a wounded man, of Liore and of other parts of Amestriss, it is with the care one would see in a mother.

"Keep shooting!" Riza commands - and beside her Reese and Havok nod, blinking the surprise out of their gazes. In moments, the trio have taken up their positions once more.

Minutes crawl by and then, despite the soldiers previous thoughts, the Drachman forces are left with no choice but to retreat.

"Are they gone?" the brown-eyed woman asks.

A man beside her nods. "Trent says that they just chased the last ones off, Rose. This building's still ours."

Rose nods, and then her eyes glance around the room she stands in. Bounces off the fallen men, both dead and alive, and then land on where Riza, Havok, and Reese are crouched. She is still for a moment, then slightly off steps take her across the room and to the other side of the table.

"How many in here are hurt?" she asks.

"Three." Riza answers, and then she pushes herself to her feet. Her companion snipers stand up too, though Reese quickly retreats further into the room to check on his fellow soldiers.

"There are eight out here, Rose." a young woman calls, standing up from one of the fallen Drachman soldiers. "All of them are ours."

Rose nods. "Alright. Let's see how many we can keep alive, alright? Crenna, can you go ahead of us and let Braig know that we're coming with wounded? We'll need him ready."

The woman nods, brushes her hands off on a tattered apron, and then turns and streaks out of the house. In her place, a young boy starts to make rounds over the fallen.

He can't be more than ten, Riza decides. Then she turns her attention to the woman standing before them, the apparant leader of their impromptu saviors.

"I'm 1st Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, ma'am." she says. "On behalf of the Amestrian military, I thank you for the assitance."

Beside her, Havok just grins.

_No matter where you are...No matter who you are._

"So this is where you all have been hiding, huh?" Havok asks, light blue eyes scanning the crowded building he has been brought too.

Next to him, Braig stiffens. His weather-worn face pulls into a scowl, one hand coming down hard on the gash on Havok's shoulder.

Jerking forward, the tawny-haired man lets out a gasp. "The Hell was that for?"

"We haven't been _hiding_, brat." Braig spits out, and there is nothing short of rage in his voice. "We've been _surviving_. There's a big difference between the two."

Before Havok can get out any sort of an apology, Braig dissapears into the crowd of wounded.

"Don't mind him." a soft voice sounds from behind him. "Braig's just angry because he can't help us fight."

"Why can't he fight?" Havok questions, eyes locking onto the slender form of Rose. She has a swathe of bandages wrapped around her left bicep, the thin material already stained with ruby.

"He's our only doctor, Lieutenant." Rose explains, gingerly taking a seat on the floor beside Havok. "And we all decided when this started that we couldn't risk losing him."

A smart choice, Havok thinks, though he doesn't say it outloud. He's learning quickly that the people of Liore don't take kindly to remarks about their battles, even if it's a compliment. So he just nods and gives a slight hum, scanning the room in front of him to try and find Riza.

No luck. The senior sniper seems to have dissapeared - and that brings a thought to his mind, one that must be answered.

Turning in his seat, he raises an eyebrow at the wounded woman next to him. "Where's your leader at, anyway? He around here?"

"We don't really have a leader." Rose answers - and Havok is almost certain that there is grief in her voice.

However, before he gets the chance to question it, someone further away from them scoffs. The noise belongs to a wounded man, whose left side is wrapped tight in stark white bandages, the tips of his burn-marks just sticking out from beneath them in spots.

"Stop lieing to him, Rose." the man says, and a woman beside him nods. "You're as good a leader as any, and you know that! We'd all be dead without you!"

_If you fight in this war, you will die._

One last battle.

One last fight.

It will decide which country will lay a claim to the desert city of Liore, be they Amestriss or Drachma.

One laststand for all involved in the forsaken war.

The rebels fight with the military, though they still have only what weapons they have been able to make. Still at a disadvantage, no matter how much rage and fear and hatred fuels them. Always at a disadvantage, always some of the first to go and the last to survive.

But they don't give up - and their losses only fuel them more, encouraged onwards by the cries of their unannounced leader.

Rose is right in the middle of it, just like she always is. Her pipe is the only weapon she carries, though her swings are sharp and forceful, her strikes well-aimed. When she isn't fighting, she is crouching down by the wounded, helping the injured get to safety.

It is when she is crouching that she sees him. The sniper hidden in the shadows of a building, gun raised and finger ready to shoot - the barrel aimed right at the back of a blonde woman clad in blue, whose sole focus is protecting the people of Liore.

Protecting _her_ people.

She doesn't think before she moves, just lets out a strangled cry of warning and throws her arms out in front of her. Flings herself in the path of the bullet - and knows only _painpainpain!_ She hits the ground and it feels as though her body is on fire. Everything begins to sway, black creeping into the corner of her vision.

Sharp, blue eyes suddenly enter her line of sight. They are set in a worried face slightly framed with blonde hair. Pale lips are moving but Rose can't make out the words. Can't make out much of anything, actually, and for some reason it doesn't scare her.

"Rose? Rose!" Riza calls, one hand reaching out to shake the fallen messiah.

There is no answer. There is only red.

And one less civilian of Liore lives to see the end of the battle.


End file.
